


One Hundred and One Reasons to Smile

by natascha_ronin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan January Joy, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natascha_ronin/pseuds/natascha_ronin
Summary: Based on this prompt: “I was burning scented candles and fell asleep. You’re my neighbor who bashed the door down when my smoke alarm went off.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, dudes! I’m your CS January Joy writer for Day Twelve! Happy New Year, everyone! Enjoy! I am totally loving all of the awesome stories coming out so far this month! :) Thanks to everyone who has participated so far.
> 
> A teensy bit M rated (no smut, just adult themes, implied sexytimes, and some mild OTC drug abuse).

It is a dark and stormy night.

Well, actually, no. 

It’s a friggin’ freezing cold night. 

The temperature outside Emma’s car is a balmy -2 degrees, the middle of February a refrigerator in South Boston. She sneezes and pulls out a tissue to wipe her nose, wadding it up and tossing it into the pile in the back seat. She moans, batting her dry, bleary eyes. She looks longingly over at the bottle of NyQuil she purchased earlier from the drug store. Some Valentine’s Day gift.

It’s bad enough that she’s freezing, but she’s pretty sure she has the beginning of a cold, and she’s stuck doing a stakeout for some jackass scamming his insurance company at midnight. He’s currently inside the bar, spending money he thinks he’ll be making from his worker’s comp case. She’s got just about enough video footage from sitting in the icepocalypse for the last week to nail him. She frowns. Sprained ligaments, her ass.

It’s just about another hour before he comes waltzing out of the bar on two perfectly good legs, a group of friends laughing around him, and she’s got about five minutes of video down. She fires up the bug and shivers. She can feel the ache in her bones, the throbbing in her head, as she maneuvers along the streets to her studio apartment. The cold is just one more thing that makes her unhappy, she thinks with a scowl. 

Maybe she should’ve stayed in Talahassee. Maybe, just maybe, Neal would have met her there, like he promised. 

Maybe she should stop wishing for things that never happened. 

She pulls up in front of the building, which is actually an old house that’s been renovated and turned into apartments. Apartments with pretty thin walls. She hasn’t lived here long, a little over a month, but she’s already learned that the lady who owns the building and lives in 1A likes to watch old werewolf movies, (she also owns the diner on the corner). The couple on the first floor is hella loud in the bedroom (really, does she have to know the chick calls him Prince Charming on the “o”?). The person who lives below her is a very gifted musician and keeps just about the kind of hours she does because she never sees them.

She trudges up the stairs to the attic, shouldering the sticking door, and turns up the old thermostat while she waits for the radiator to rattle to life. Her nose is leaking like a faucet, so she pops the seal on the bottle of medicine and starts chugging. She figures two tablespoons is more of a guideline than a hard and fast rule. Besides, she wants to be in a coma for the nasty fight her body is surely in for. 

“Cheers,” she squeaks out as she toasts the poster of David Bowie over her futon. 

The radiator is taking its sweet time, so she walks over to the bathroom, contemplating a shower. The apartment didn’t come with many amenities apart from reasonable rent, but an old claw-foot soaking tub is one of them. She eyes the bathtub, and remembers the tube of expensive body wash the lady in 1B gave her as part of a housewarming basket. (A housewarming present in Southy. How did she get so lucky?) 

She can’t smell it, but she starts squeezing it out liberally into the hot water. The apartment is so cold the water steams the air as it bubbles and fills the deep tub. She walks around the space, lighting candles, preparing for the full experience of a luxurious bath, before stripping down and gingerly stepping into the hot bath.   
The water is scalding, and it takes her a few tries before she acclimates to the burn on her skin, breathing deeply through newly opened lungs, closing her eyes against the fatigue of sickness, cold, and days of sitting in a cesspool of germs in her car. For a minute, she contemplates twisting her hair up in a bun as she settles back against the porcelain, but figures she can blow it dry when she gets out. Besides, it’s dirty anyway, and the hot water feels lush against her scalp. 

“Hmmm…” she hums as her body relaxes, and she breathes in the humid air through her nose. The bubbles trap the heat against her skin, and she rests her neck against the back of the tub. The medicine is really working now, and she feels the tingle of calm down her spine, loosening her muscles while she closes her eyes and relaxes to the soft sound of the tap.

Drip, drip, drip.

It’s the best sound in the world.

 

The first thing she hears is the beeping. 

Incessant beeping. Ugh. Annoying. It’s pulling her out of a sleep that feels like jell-o. Gooey, sticky sleep that keeps trying to suck her in.

The second thing she hears is the banging. 

It’s the cold that finally gets her to open her eyes. She’s fighting something to keep warm, and her blankets – are there blankets? – aren’t solid at all as she pulls at them to get away from the noise. In fact, as she looks down, she’s still in the bathtub. 

She doesn’t have enough time to register the thought of how out of it she must be to have fallen asleep in the bathtub, because in the next instant, there’s a loud crash coming from outside the bathroom.

She stumbles out of the tub, shivering, chest heaving from adrenaline and the added labor of a clogged nose, and yanks open the door. 

Two guys are rushing toward her.

“Are you alright?” one of them asks. He’s got blonde hair and she recognizes him as Prince Charming from 1B. He squints and closes his eyes. 

The thought makes her giggle a little in her disoriented state. “Uhhh. Yeah.”

The guy with him, who she immediately recognizes as ridiculously handsome, is looking anywhere but at her. She instantly realizes why.

Her hands whip into place to cover herself, and she has enough coherence in that moment to babble, “Uh, sorry, I was taking a bath,” she yells over the beeping. She crab-walks over to the futon, grabs a throw, and quickly wraps it around herself. 

Handsome guy, who, upon inspection is wearing an earring and carrying a fire extinguisher, walks over to the candle sitting on the kitchen counter. “Ah, this seems to be the trouble.” He blows out the candle, its wick down to the bottom, smoke billowing up to the smoke detector directly above it. 

Prince Charming grabs the stool next to earring guy and swiftly climbs up, turning off the alarm before looking around the room. 

“Uh, s-sorry,” Emma manages to stutter. She is never taking NyQuil again, she thinks, blinking away the unsettled grogginess. “I’m normally a lot more careful than that, I’m just, um –“ she waves her hand in front of her, trying to find the right word. 

Words would help, Emma.

“Drunk?” Earring guy grins and quirks an eyebrow. 

She shakes her head, feeling defensive. “I’m sick. I took some cold medicine and it knocked me out.” As if to prove her point, her hoarse voice betrays her and cuts out in a squeak while she’s speaking. 

“I’ll say,” Charming quips, his hands on his hips, “That alarm was going off for a solid ten minutes before we came up here.” He swings around and gestures to the broken door with one arm. “Sorry about your door. I’ll have Granny call the super later.”

“Granny?” 

“She owns the building.”

“Oh,” Emma looks down and wraps the blanket tighter around her. She’s shivering. “Yeah, I just call her Miss Lucas.”

“Well, stick around here long enough, and she’s bound to grow on you.” He gives Emma a kind smile, and she thinks he’s handsome in an all-American sort of way. 

“You might not remember me. I’m David, Mary Margaret’s husband.”

Mary Margaret, the nice woman who gave her the welcome basket. Emma smiles sheepishly, feeling silly standing in just a blanket, dripping puddles onto the floor. “Emma Swan.” She nods.

Earring guy is scratching his sideburn, looking at the door. He gives her a sidelong glance. 

David clears his throat and looks at him.

“Oh, um,” He looks down at his shoes and back up at her. “Killian Jones, at your service, ma’am.” 

Emma smiles in spite of herself, at his chivalry and his accent. It suits him. 

“Nice to meet you, Killian.” 

Suddenly, she’s very aware of how disheveled she looks, and she wishes she were a little more put together. Even in sweatpants and tee shirts, these guys are far more put together than she is at the moment. 

Killian looks back at the door, and walks over to swing it back and forth. “This door will barely need repairing. You’ll likely only require a strike plate and a new knob.”

“Yeah, I’ll just stick a chair in front of it and keep my Sig close by. It’ll be fine.” She clears her throat. 

He raises his eyebrows, amused. “You have a handgun?”

She nods, “I’m handy with a firearm when I need to be.”

His grin widens and his eyes twinkle as they sweep over her. “Tough lass.” It sounds like he’s flirting.

_On second thought, screw the chivalry and just keep the accent,_ she thinks. She squares her shoulders and smirks. 

David walks over and claps his hand on Killian’s shoulder, giving him a significant look. “So, if there’s nothing you need, we’ll just be going.” He ushers them through the door. “I’ll have Mary Margaret check in on you later on after you’ve gotten some rest, see how you’re feeling.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. It’s just a little cold.”

“Well, Killian is within earshot if you need anything.”

“Oh?” Emma calls down, “You’ll come to my rescue if my smoke alarm goes off in the middle of the night again?”

“Of course, love.” They’re halfway down the stairs when Killian looks up, still smiling. “I’m your downstairs neighbor.”

She’s pretty sure the surprise is written all over her face. Killian is the musician downstairs. The hot, English musician, who just saw her naked and high on cold medicine, who busted down her door to save her from a stupid smoking candle, is right downstairs. 

Emma closes her busted door and sinks down to the floor. She’s cold and sticky and still damp, and now she’s utterly mortified. Of all the embarrassing situations…

Maybe she can just move.

 

The sun is shining brightly when she wakes up at noon, mouth dry from likely snoring through the night. She swigs some orange juice from the fridge to drown out the taste of death on her tongue. 

She spends the afternoon emailing her boss the information on the insurance scammer, declining another job to stay home and nurse her cold, and binge-watching Gilmore Girls. 

She’s contemplating another (proper) dose of NyQuil at around eight o’clock, when she hears a soft knock at the door. 

“Hello?” She calls out. 

“Emma?” A woman’s voice calls from the other side of the door. “It’s me, Mary Margaret from downstairs.”

Emma opens the door to her smiling neighbor, who is swinging a basket in front of her. “Hi.” She’s sure she looks like she sounds, but at least this time she’s clothed and somewhat lucid. 

The woman smiles even wider. The apples of her cheeks are rosy. “Hi. My husband told me what happened last night, and I wanted to check on you to make sure you were okay.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” Emma looks behind her at the mess of tissues, glasses and unmade bed in her living room. “I’m just sick.”

Mary Margaret gives her a sympathetic look. “I know, and that must have been so scary, being sick and then someone just banging down your door like that.”

Now that she thinks about it, it is pretty bizarre. “Yeah, but I was pretty out of it, I was really more embarrassed than anything else.” She tries to laugh, but all that comes out is a cough. 

“Oh, there’s no reason to be. This is your place; you didn’t think someone would come barging in at three a.m. so why would you get dressed?” She giggles and bites her lip. 

Emma closes her eyes, a fresh wave of mortification washing over her. “Ohhhh, just the fact that your husband knows I was naked and hopped up on cold medicine…” She runs her hand over her face and takes a deep breath. “I am so sorry.” 

Mary Margaret reaches out and puts a hand over hers, shaking her head. “It’s really nothing. I’m sure Killian is more embarrassed than you are. He was three shades of pink when David told me what happened.” She holds up the basket between them. “In fact, he insisted on helping me make some goodies to nurse you back to health.”

Emma’s eyes widen when she takes in the food. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that –“

“Of course we did.” She shakes her head. “You’re our neighbor. We couldn’t let you sit up here alone and starve.”

“Oh, I’m fine, really.” She waves her hands in front of her. It’s really sweet of them, but she’s not used to people taking care of her. She doesn’t know how to accept the help. 

“We insist.” She presses the basket into Emma’s hands. It’s heavy. She’s already walking back down the stairs.

“Thank you,” Emma calls down.

Mary Margaret turns around on the stairs and winks. “Killian made the scones.”

 

The scones are delicious, with sweet blueberries and a jar of raw honey. There’s a note in the basket, attached to a small bottle of rum. 

_Rum, honey, lemon, and a stick of cinnamon._   
_Better than cough syrup, darling._   
_Killian Jones_

Emma smiles, pulling out a container of what looks like chicken noodle soup. There’s another note, this time in Mary Margaret’s handwriting, with heating instructions. Perhaps it’s nice to take a little help every once in awhile.

A snow storm blows in, drifts and wind driving everyone indoors for a few days, slowing down the world and giving Emma a little extra time off of work to convalesce. She sleeps, catches up on shows she’s been missing, and feels truly rested for the first time in months. Miss Lucas’s handyman comes over to repair her door. The hot toddies help soothe her throat, and the first morning she wakes up able to breathe through the night is a relief. She blinks open her eyes, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood around her, the plow moving down the street, and music coming from the apartment below her.

After a scant breakfast, (she really must get to the store for some groceries), she emails her boss to get another assignment. The snow storm has slowed the city down; the pickings are slim and there are just a few pictures to take, a little research to do. She dresses warmly, walks outside with her snow brush to clean off her car, only to find that it’s already been done for her. 

She looks around the street, silently thanking whoever was kind enough to brush away the foot of snow that has accumulated over the last few days. She can’t stop smiling throughout the day, thinking of the incredible thoughtfulness other people have shown her. She decides to pay it forward when she goes to grab a coffee, setting a twenty dollar bill down in front of the cashier and asking him to use the money to pay for the next few patrons that come in. 

She’s still smiling later that night as she comes in, arms laden with grocery bags, and she nearly bumps into Killian as he’s walking out of the front door of his apartment. 

“Hello, love, didn’t see you standing there.” He’s standing off to the side of the landing with his arm out to steady her. 

“Hi.” She’s back to the embarrassed smile. 

He looks down. “Let me help you with that.”

She moves to pull her hand back. “Oh, it’s –“ 

But he pulls the bags out of her hand, hooking them over his arm. “No need, I’ve carried rum barrels heavier than this.”

Emma begins trudging up the stairs toward her apartment, laughing. “Why am I not surprised?”

They stand in front of her front door as she fiddles with the new key in the lock and swings the door open. “Come on in. Not like you haven’t seen the place before.”

He chuckles behind her. “Glad it’s under better circumstances.”

She sets the bags down on the counter. “Yeah, that.” Emma turns around. “Sorry about the whole…” she gestures up and down her body.

He looks sheepish at that, and scratches at his ear, licking his lips. It’s a nervous habit, she can tell. He looks up as if her ceiling is suddenly very interesting. “I promise, I didn’t look.”

Emma simpers at him. “Huh.”

“I would never, I swear it.” His eyes are wide and earnest, a piercing blue. 

She knows she shouldn’t, but she decides to mess with him anyway. “Don’t like what you see?”

“Well, uh, no – I mean, yes,” he gestures at her, stammering, “I mean, you’re quite lovely, I just – I wouldn’t –“

“Killian.” She snorts. “I’m just messing with you. It’s okay.” 

“Right.” His face is red. He twists his torso back toward the door. “I’m just gonna –“

Emma gives him a small smile. “Thanks again, Killian.”

He smiles at the sound of his name. “You’re welcome.”

 

She sees David outside a few days later at his truck and waves at him. He’s putting things in the bed and he waves back. 

“Hi, Emma, how are you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks.” Emma smiles brightly. “And, um, thanks for brushing the snow off of my car while I was sick. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, that?” He purses his lips and gives her a secret smile. “Not me.”

“Oh, well then someone has my gratitude.” She gestures to the street.

David looks pointedly up at the second story of the house and back down at her. “Yeah. Someone.”

 

She’s meeting Mary Margaret and David at a bar in the neighborhood. She’s smiling as she walks in the door, shaking the snow off of her hat and hair. She catches the eye of the main act on the stage. 

It’s Killian Jones, and man, can he sing. 

They spend the evening drinking and laughing, red cheeks in the hot bar, while Killian sings songs to them and winks at her, telling stories about his band back in England before his days in the Royal Navy. 

Her cheeks ache at the end of the night from laughing, trading stories with Mary Margaret and David about her time as a bail bondsman before becoming a private investigator. She’s got some pretty interesting stories, and Killian joins them before the end of the night and goads David into sharing some of his own funny tales about growing up on a farm. 

She and Killian flirt and laugh, the alcohol a balm for their nervous attraction, and she ignores the winks and pointed looks she gets from Mary Margaret. She can banter just fine with Killian without someone playing matchmaker. 

 

She’s walking down the stairs from her apartment early in the morning the following Monday, on her way to a dentist’s appointment, trying not to make too much noise since Mary Margaret has said the stairs creak and she doesn’t want to wake anyone. She’s three steps above the landing to Killian’s apartment when his door swings open.

His lithe frame fills the doorway. “Swan. And where might you be going?”

“Dentist. I’ll get you a dinosaur toothbrush.” She flicks her hair back over her shoulder.

He reaches out to fix a piece that falls back over. “What are you doing later?” His eyes flip up to hers. 

Oh.

Later.

“I have to swing by the county courthouse to drop off some stuff for a case later, but after that…”

“Nothing?”

She nods.

He looks down and steps forward, into her space. “How about dinner?”

She’s suddenly very warm, and her eyelids flutter involuntarily. “Yeah,” she breathes. 

He’s close. Very close. His face, she could just close the distance between them by a few inches. She can see his dark eyelashes flicker against his cheeks. 

He looks down at her lips and licks his. 

“Come over at seven?”

“Uh huh.”

His eyes twinkle and he steps back, biting his lip. “See you then.”

 

It’s not really a date, she tells herself.

She and Killian get along, he’s a nice guy, they’ve hung out once, and they’re just getting to know each other. 

It’s not really a date.

It’s not at all a date, she tells herself as she texts him later to ask what they’re having – steak – so she can pick up a bottle of wine. 

It’s definitely not a date, she thinks, as she applies a little makeup and grabs the bottle of body spray that she picked up in the same scent as the body wash Mary Margaret gave her. 

 

But when he answers the door in a button-up shirt (button down shirt, really, with the amount of chest hair he’s showing), sensuality oozing, charm and ease as he moves around his much larger kitchen, she thinks it could be, and the thought doesn’t make her nervous. 

It makes her smile. 

When he licks his lips while looking at hers after she sips her wine, she closes the distance. 

His lips taste like Shiraz. He smells like amber and sandalwood. 

“Will you have dinner with me again?” 

His lips against her lips, she whispers, “Yes.”

 

The weather has warmed considerably in April, but it’s still hit-or-miss, so the four of them, Emma, Killian, David, and Mary Margaret, take advantage of a warmer day to take a walk down by the Aquarium. They make a day of it, eating at Faneuil Hall like tourists, shopping, listening to Mary Margaret chatter excitedly about a summer trip she’s planning to Maine. 

Killian and Emma hold hands, swinging them back and forth. 

She looks down and smiles. 

Such small acts of kindness, she thinks, that led to this moment. She can think of a hundred and one things that make her smile now, the bitterness of winter gone. 

It’s a warm spring day. They sit on the steps next to the Aquarium and watch the boats drift over the water. 

Killian chuckles next to her. 

She looks over at him. His eyes are shielded by sunglasses. “What?”

He shakes his head and says, without looking in her direction. “Just thinking about the first time I saw you.”

“Saw me naked, you mean?” She winks.

Instead, he shakes his head and looks down, worrying his cuticle with his thumbnail. “No, although that was quite shocking.”

“You don’t seem to mind so much now.”

“Nope. Not at all.” He leers, then sobers. “No, I was thinking about the first time I saw you.”

She shakes her head. “What do you mean?”

“You’d just moved in, and you were walking in from your car. I saw you from the window in my apartment, and you looked so unhappy.” 

Emma looks back out over the water. “I was pretty miserable.”

“Aye, and I thought,” he takes her hand in his, “I thought that it might do you good to have some kindness, so I played my guitar.”

Emma smiles down at him. “Your music is pretty relaxing.”

“And now, to look at you is to look at a whole new Emma.”

“What do you mean?” She shakes her head, wondering.

“Your smile, love.” He reaches up to trace her lips with his finger. “I didn’t know you before, but I reckon you smile a lot more now.”

“I do,” she nips at his finger, “and you know what?” 

“What?”

“I like it.” She inhales deep. “I like me.”

Killian smiles up at her. “I like you, too.”


End file.
